When playing football, you should call it GOAT.

Chapter 168 The calm before the storm
On the morning of May 30, Mendes walked into Madrid-Barajas Airport, rubbing his temples.

He and Florentino had a meeting that lasted until late at night, with the old man slamming his fist on the table, urging him to quickly finalize Roy's transfer.

But this kid is now up for sale, with various wealthy families vying to make offers; it's not an easy task.

The 7:45 flight was about to take off, and Mendes slumped in his seat.

The flight attendant brought him coffee, but he forgot to add sugar.

The morning sun was blinding outside the porthole, and all he could think about were Florentino's last words: "Either bring Roy to the Bernabéu, or don't bring any more players."

This morning, news of Real Madrid's sporting director Jorge Valdano's resignation spread throughout Madrid.

In his farewell letter to all employees, the Argentine legend fondly recalled the four-year partnership, but his words betrayed a deep sense of melancholy.

The trigger can be traced back to last summer: first, the serious dereliction of duty in letting go of rising star Roy for a mere 300,000 euros, and then the mistaken decision to sign Queiroz.

Real Madrid failed to win any major trophies this season, and when the dressing room collectively demanded a change of manager, Valdano's stubbornness eventually exhausted Florentino's last bit of patience.

This once highly trusted key player of the club ultimately could not escape the cruel laws of Real Madrid.

The plane began to taxi, and Mendes took out his phone, looking at the text message Roy had sent him last night: "Jorge, wait a little longer."

These few words made him want to throw his phone out the window.

"Wait? Wait my ass!"

He took a swig of bitter coffee. "If I keep waiting, I'll be torn apart by both sides."

Abramovich's private jet roared into the clouds, but the atmosphere inside the cabin was unusually heavy.

Kenyon handed the fax he had just received to his boss: "Deschamps has just officially signed a three-year contract with Juventus."

“Then there’s no other choice,” Abramovich said, swirling his whiskey, the ice clinking against each other. “Right now, the only player on the market who’s good enough for Chelsea is that Portuguese madman.”

Kenyon frowned: "Mourinho definitely has some skills; he managed to get a team like Porto into the Champions League final. It's just his words."

"I want a champion, not a speaker."

"Mourinho must sign the contract before dark."

He leaned back in his chair and began to plan: "In the first year, we must win the Premier League title and at least reach the Champions League semi-finals. In the second year, we must defend our league title and win the FA Cup. We must lift the Champions League trophy within three years."

"What about the transfer budget?" Kenyon asked.

"Give me as much as you want."

"The defense needs rebuilding, the midfield lacks a tough player, and the forward line needs strengthening. Tell the scouting department to buy players from Mourinho's list; price is not an issue."

“But there’s a condition,” Abramovich suddenly opened his eyes, “Roy must be brought to Stamford Bridge. He can pick any other players, but I want to build the team around him.”

“That’s exactly the kind of temperament I want in him: good technique, passion, and a natural leader. Tell Mourinho that the transfer fee is not a problem, and we can offer him the highest annual salary in the team. He can buy whoever he wants for the other positions, but Roy must come.”

Kenyon nodded: "Mendes is in Porto today, so we can discuss Roy's transfer in person. Should we sound out Mourinho first? See if he's willing to build the team around Roy?"

“Tell Mendes directly that Chelsea is willing to break the wage structure for Roy. As for Mourinho…”

"Do you think, given his personality, he would refuse to coach a 19-year-old prodigy who can already carry the Champions League? In the Champions League final a couple of days ago, this kid tore Porto's defense apart, and Mourinho was watching from the sidelines. Do you think a coach who has just been taught a lesson by his future prodigy would not want a player like that?"

As the plane began its descent, Abramovich added one last thing: "This kid has all the qualities to become a legend. I want the whole world to remember that Chelsea nurtured the next superstar."

in the afternoon.

When Roy woke up in his suite at the Maurice Hotel in Paris, sunlight was already streaming through the sheer curtains, filling half the room.

He tiptoed out of bed, careful not to wake Leticia, who was still fast asleep.

Last night's frenzy left even this usually energetic actress exhausted.

He picked up the phone and ordered room service: "Two steaks, medium-rare, with Bordeaux wine."

After hanging up the phone, Roy poured himself a glass of water and walked barefoot to the French windows.

With a whoosh, the curtains were drawn back, revealing a view of Paris in May.

The Seine River shimmered in the distance, and many tourists were already taking photos in Place de la Concorde.

He casually shook the water glass in his hand, then suddenly noticed a few places in the distance.

The windows of the building across the street, the white van on the street corner, and even the awning of the cafe in the distance all concealed reflections from telephoto lenses.

He chuckled, tilted his head back and took a swig of water, then casually waved in the direction of the cameras.

This action immediately caused a commotion, with several paparazzi frantically adjusting their camera focus.

Roy could even imagine the headlines in tomorrow's Parisian tabloids' entertainment section: "Triple Crown Winner Spends Night in Supermodel's Boudoir, Provoking All the Paparazzi in Paris on Balcony."

As he turned back to his room, he deliberately loosened the belt of his bathrobe and heard several muffled exclamations and camera shutter sounds in the distance.

Roy looked down and saw several red marks on his chest.

Leticia was still fast asleep, lying on her side on the messy sheets, her honey-colored long hair draped over the pillow.

Long, voluptuous legs slipped out from under the covers, the hem of her silk nightgown rolled up to her waist, gleaming like mother-of-pearl in the sunlight.

He leaned against the balcony door, squinting at the beauty on the bed.

There was no affection between them.

She was infatuated with his youthful vigor, and he enjoyed her mature charm—that was all.

Roy gently closed the French windows, shutting out the hustle and bustle of Paris and those greedy cameras.

In the evening, Mourinho hung up the phone with Da Costa and put on a black trench coat.

After a brief farewell to his wife, he drove alone to the Carlton Hotel in Porto, Pestaná.

The car slowly drove through familiar streets, the whole city still immersed in the shadow of the Champions League final defeat.

In a roadside café, fans were gesturing excitedly, and you didn't even need to listen to know what they were talking about—how that damn 19-year-old had destroyed Porto's defense.

Mourinho gripped the steering wheel tightly, his brow furrowed.

Tonight he might be meeting his future boss, but right now his mind is filled with the image of Roy taunting his players on the field three days ago.

Mourinho parked the car in the hotel's underground garage, the tires screeching briefly on the concrete.

As the elevator ascended, he straightened his trench coat collar in front of the metal door; the man in the reflection still had dark circles under his eyes.

He has hardly had a good night's sleep these days.

Mendes was pacing around the conference room, his phone pressed to his ear, rapidly switching between Portuguese and English.

Upon seeing Mourinho enter, he hung up the phone, grinned, and said, "Guess what I just received? Deschamps has officially signed a three-year contract with Juventus."

"So they settled for second best and approached the coach of the Champions League runner-up?"

Mourinho pulled out a chair and sneered.

Mendes poured him a glass of Porto red wine: "Come on, Chelsea can't even make it to the Champions League semi-finals. Deschamps has already gone to Juventus, and Abramovich doesn't like Irureta's style of play. Unless they can poach Wenger from Arsenal, the Frenchman just signed a long-term contract this year."

Mourinho swirled his wine glass: "So what price are the Russians going to ask for for this 'second choice'?"

"Hunger will make you eat anything!"

Mendes pulled a document from his briefcase. “The annual salary they’re offering you is enough to cover the salaries of the entire coaching staff in the Portuguese league.”

In the private meeting room, the floor-to-ceiling windows offer a view of the Douro River at night, bathed in a soft, golden light.

As Mourinho checked his watch for the third time, Mendes gently nudged his knee, and footsteps finally echoed down the corridor.

"I apologize for taking up your time."

Kenyon pushed open the door and came in, followed by Abu in a casual suit. "The weather in London delayed our takeoff."

The Russian was not wearing a tie, and he was holding a half-smoked cigar in his left hand.

Da Costa stood up and reached out to shake hands with Abramovich.

The Russian merely touched his fingertips perfunctorily, his gaze already passing over him to Mourinho.

The chairman had a smile on his face, but his eyes twitched slightly.

He certainly understood the disdain, but the £200 million penalty check was already in the Russians' pocket.

Da Costa withdrew his hand and casually straightened his tie.

The Russian cut to the chase: "Let me be frank, I want you to take Chelsea to the top of Europe within three years. There's no upper limit on the transfer budget."

"A three-year contract with an annual salary of £500 million."

As Kenyon slid the folder to the center of the table, Mendes suddenly coughed. This figure exceeded the £450 million of Eriksson and Ferguson.

Mourinho tapped the table with his fingertips: "What if I need to purge half the team?"

“You decide on the roster.” Kenyon tapped the contract. “But Roy is a must-buy; Roman wants to build the team around him—tell me your plan?”

Mourinho certainly admires Roy.

That kid was the perfect piece of the puzzle, born for his tactics.

But just three days ago, it was this 19-year-old prodigy who shattered Porto's championship dream with a powerful nutmeg shot.

Now, Abramovich is spending a fortune to sign him, hoping he will personally elevate his 'enemy' to the new king of Stamford Bridge.

“It’s ironic,” he thought, “I’ve become the world’s most expensive nanny.”

President Da Costa suddenly interjected: "We demand a clause in the contract that prohibits poaching players from Porto. This is our bottom line, for five years."

The Russians reiterated: "An additional 200 million pounds sterling in compensation can offset this clause."

Da Costa leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped over his stomach, his gaze turned to the window.

The lights of the boats on the river swayed in the ripples. He stared at them silently for a long time, and finally said nothing more.

Kenyon continued, "We do have our eyes on a few young players. You and I both know very well what Porto's players can bring to you. Do I need to remind you how much Deco, Carvalho, and Ferreira are worth on the transfer market?"

"I will be bringing a coaching staff of seven."

Mourinho finally spoke.

Abu stubbed out his cigar in the ashtray: "Here are ten work visas for you."

As Mendes began quickly flipping through the contract appendix, Mourinho suddenly asked, "What if Roy doesn't want to come to London?"

Abramovich flashed his first smile of the night: "Then tell him that the new coach will build him a French bakery at Stanford Bridge."

"Zidane cost Real Madrid 7750 million back then, while Roy's release clause was capped at 4000 million."

He shrugged, as if discussing supermarket discounts. "With the remaining budget, I'll give him a crazy signing bonus, or I can send him a yacht, or build ten football schools in his hometown. Anyway, the Financial Times says the ruble will rise this year."

Looking at Abramovich's nonchalant attitude, Mourinho suddenly realized: this Russian didn't care about money at all.

A madman wants to buy another madman to coach him.

And he himself happens to be a madman.

In an interview in London that evening, England captain David Beckham said that despite facing the formidable defending champions France in their opening match of the European Championship next month, the entire team is full of confidence to meet the challenge.

On June 13th, the match between England and France was considered one of the most anticipated games of the group stage. France boasted a star-studded lineup, including Arsenal's striker Thierry Henry, winger Robert Pires, midfielder Patrick Vieira, Zinedine Zidane (Beckham's Real Madrid teammate), and André Roy, the European top scorer who had just helped Monaco win the treble…

Facing such a formidable opponent, Beckham stated, "We know the strength of the French team; they have many world-class players, but we will not back down. We will step onto the field with confidence and give our all to win."

“People always look at this team and say they are unbeatable. But we all know that there is no such thing as an unbeatable team.”

Beckham told reporters at the England training camp.

“We have many young players who are not worried about any game, nor do they care how good the French team is, or how good Henry or Vieira are on the day. They are only focused on winning.”

"Roy is a very dangerous player. Although he is only 19 years old, he is already one of the top strikers in Europe. He has scored 17 goals in the Champions League and more than 40 goals in the league. He has a very strong attacking ability and is very impactful. However, we have studied his characteristics and will try to limit him."

“It will be a tough match, but you have to put yourself against the best teams, and they (France) are the best.”

When talking about himself, Beckham believes that his transfer from Manchester United to La Liga giants Real Madrid last year gave him an extra advantage.

"Playing alongside players like Zidane and Ronaldo definitely required me to raise my own level, and that boosted my confidence."

"My ball control has improved, and my footwork is much faster, especially when I play in the middle."

"People always like to talk about my so-called 'failure' at the end of the season and say that I became another England player who failed in Spain. But I don't think I failed in Spain."

The England team is actively preparing, and Beckham said the whole team is united and looks forward to showing their best in their first match in Lisbon.

On May 31, 2004, the entire Monaco team rode in a double-decker open-top bus and began a grand Champions League victory parade.

The entire city seemed to be set ablaze, with streets packed with fans in red and white jerseys, cheers rising and falling, and confetti and streamers flying everywhere.

Giuly raised the Champions League trophy high and waved it to the crowd. In an instant, the voices of tens of thousands of people merged into a torrent, and the familiar team anthem resounded through the sky.

Evra and Maicon, the wing duo, embraced each other and wept with emotion, Bernardi kept patting his chest and pointing to the stands, while Pedretti jumped and danced like a child.

Roy stood in the most prominent position in the team. He had just helped the team win the European championship with a record number of goals. At this moment, he was like a king in the hearts of Monaco fans.

Every time the bus passed by, the shouts of the crowd would instantly rise, his name would be chanted over and over again, and the whole city seemed to be going crazy for him.

His teammates surrounded him with smiles, while Roy simply smiled and occasionally waved to the crowd.

During the jubilant moments of the Champions League parade, observant fans noticed that the Monaco players were all wearing the same special timepiece on their wrists – a steel Daytona watch.

This is a gift Roy prepared for the whole team after winning the championship. The dial is engraved with the words "Monaco Champions 2004", and the back is engraved with each player's jersey number and the date of the Champions League final.

Interestingly, Rolex astutely capitalized on the popularity of this Champions League season.

After Roy negotiated with them, he provided this batch of specially customized watches at almost cost price.

In exchange, the players are required to wear them in public occasions such as championship parades.

This shrewd business decision gave the brand immeasurable exposure.

As the Monaco team lifted the trophy, the sight of dozens of gleaming Daytonas shining in the sunlight was broadcast around the world via television.

Roy's gift not only expressed his gratitude to his teammates but also unexpectedly led to a perfect business collaboration.

His teammates were delighted with this special souvenir, with Evra even joking, "This is much more valuable than a championship medal!"

Roy simply smiled and turned the watch on his wrist, its dial reflecting a dazzling light in the sunlight.

Head coach Didier Deschamps stood in the center of the team, watching all of this with a pleased expression.

The balconies on both sides of the street, in front of shops, and even on lampposts were packed with excited fans.

The entire city was immersed in pure joy, red and white flags fluttered in the wind, and cheers lingered for a long time.

This was not an ordinary parade, but a tribute from the entire city to its heroes, and Roy was undoubtedly their proudest symbol.

Since winning the Champions League final on May 26, Roy has become the most sought-after star in all of Europe.

However, just as major media outlets were vying for his exclusive interviews, this brilliant shooter suddenly disappeared from the public eye.

French television station M6 has drafted a script for a reality show called "If I Were Roy," which plans to let ordinary fans follow Roy and experience a day in his life.

From morning training to competitive matches, and even daily life after the matches.

However, the production team has been waiting for confirmation of the lead actor for a long time.

The French television station CANAL+ spent three days at the Monaco training ground, but only managed to film an empty locker room.

The planned "Behind-the-Scenes Story of the Championship" feature was forced to be shelved.

The MTV Europe "Soccer Stars' Private Lives" team, with their filming plans in hand, visited Roy's favorite places: the restaurants he frequents, the record store he visits every week, and the barbershop where he gets his hair cut regularly.
He always liked to visit a few small shops after training, sometimes to buy a record, sometimes just to chat with the owner.

But when the film crew arrived with their equipment, every shop owner shrugged and said, "He said he was coming."

The empty seats, the unopened new goods, and the prepared tools were all waiting for that familiar figure.

Just like his playing style, he should have played by the rules, but he insisted on doing something unexpected.

The Japanese magazine Number planned a 20-page analysis of the "Roy phenomenon" and even booked a flight from Tokyo to Monaco, but the editorial department was suddenly notified that "the player needs rest and is currently unavailable."

The 10-episode documentary "From the Suburbs of Boulogne to the Top of Europe," prepared by Monaco's national television network, was originally scheduled to begin filming this week. The directing team had already traveled to Roy's hometown to film on location, but was told that "the main character will not participate in the filming for the time being," and could only shoot establishing shots and interviews with relatives and friends first.

A prime-time interview with Roy on French television channel TF1 was scheduled to be recorded after the Champions League parade, but Roy's agent, Mendes, cancelled it at the last minute.

The BBC's "Football Focus" program had coordinated Lineker's schedule to prepare for a "Roy vs. Owen" talk showdown between two geniuses of the century, but suddenly they were unable to contact the player himself.

Even Duruk, a reporter from L'Équipe who was closest to Roy, was turned away.

His interview request was temporarily postponed for the first time.

The paparazzi even staked out Roy's apartment building, trying to get some information out of his 11-year-old brother and sister, but only managed to capture the two children's backs as they went to school as usual.

A neighbor revealed, "Their house has been very quiet these past few days, with the curtains always drawn."

In fact, Roy was on Monaco's new president Rybonovev's private plane, flying to Crimea.

He turned off his phone and refused all media inquiries.

The female manager, Claire, only said one thing to the public: "He needs three days and doesn't want to think about anything."

On the plane, Rybonov handed Roy a glass of champagne and smiled as he took out a document.

A €2 million Champions League bonus check, and documents and keys to a property on the Crimean coast.

Roy casually flipped through it, nodded, and accepted it.

In a nearby cabin sat Rybonov's entourage.

Leticia Costa sat in a window seat, holding a half-full glass of champagne.

Her gaze would occasionally lift from the magazine, lingering briefly between Roy and Rybonov, before casually lowering her head again.

Rybonov's daughter, Ekaterina, sat not far away. The 15-year-old girl would occasionally glance up at them, then quickly lower her head and pretend to look through a book, her ear tips slightly red.

The two discussed the club's future plans.

Rybonov put down his champagne glass: "Tell me, how do you think Ligue 1 should develop in the future?"

"Other clubs can tolerate it now, but sooner or later they will not be able to stand us poaching players with tax-free policies."

Roy's voice sounded calm amidst the hum of the plane's engines: "Therefore, our tax-free advantage won't last long. In the next five to ten years, Ligue 1 will either be reshaped by capital or left behind by other leagues."

"Youth training is the long-term solution."

He paused for a moment, then continued, "France has never lacked talent and has the best youth training environment, but it can't retain players. Now that we have the treble, we should make good use of this reputation, we should recruit all the talents in France, establish a complete scouting network in places like Dakar and Abidjan in Africa, and turn 'Made in Monaco' into a golden brand."

"Premier League broadcasting fees are rising every year, and Spain, Italy, and Germany are all vying for players. The commercial value of the Premier League grows by 30% annually. We can't compete with them financially, but if we can become the best talent factory in Europe and a transit point for top stars, we can acquire promising players at low prices, nurture them for two years, and then sell them at high prices while retaining the buyback option."

Rybolov nodded thoughtfully: "So your suggestion is..."

"We will build Monaco into the French version of Ajax, using youth training to make up for the financial gap and brand effect to attract talents. In this way, even if any team is invested in by oil companies in the future, we will still be able to remain competitive."

Rybonov nodded, then remembered something else.

“We fully agree with the proposals you put forward before. I also fully agree with the long-term collaboration plan between your personal brand and the club.”

Roy raised an eyebrow: "My personal brand will launch two Monaco collaboration series every year—a training gear series and a streetwear series. The club's trademark rights will be included in the product design and packaging."

Pointing to the profit distribution details, he continued, "12% of the sales revenue from the co-branded products goes to the club, of which 5% must be designated for upgrading the youth training base. My brand team will be involved in the design process to ensure that each series incorporates elements from the 2004 Champions League."

"Monaco is where my career started, and that significance will only grow stronger over time. As long as I'm still active in football, every year new fans will search for highlights of the 2004 Champions League and discuss that wonderkid from the 2003-2004 season."

“This is not a one-off marketing campaign, but a story that can be told for ten or twenty years. Just as people still talk about Maradona’s legend in Naples, we want to make ‘Made in Monaco’ a synonym for quality assurance.”

The chairman nodded: "An interesting idea."

Although this small sum of money was insignificant to an oligarch like him, he admired the young man's foresight.

"Let every child who reads this story remember that legends often begin in the most inconspicuous places."

Roy's marketing team had already prepared a plan.

They will continue to relive this championship story online for the next decade, making the "Miracle of Monaco" an eternal topic of conversation in the football world.

At the same time, Roy also understood the importance of maintaining good relationships with local capital and elites in Monaco.

This small country, known for its wealthy clubs and tax-free policies, will forever be his "commercial capital" throughout his career, regardless of which team he plays for in the future.

Rybolovlev put away the documents and suddenly asked, "By the way, have you ever been to Crimea?"

Roy shook his head.

“May is the most beautiful time in Crimea,” the Russian said, raising his glass. “Wild roses bloom on the cliffs along the Black Sea coast, and the vineyards in Yalta are just beginning to sprout new buds. There’s a local traditional dish called Tatar, baked with cherry wood, paired with Crimean Muscat wine.”

The plane continued flying eastward, and the clouds outside the window were gradually tinged with the afterglow of the setting sun. It was nearly evening.

France's European Championship training camp was supposed to begin tomorrow, June 1, but coach Santini granted the players who will be in the Champions League final a few extra days of rest.

However, they must report to the Clairefontaine base no later than June 5th.

"Five more days."

Roy was making plans in his mind.

With the European Championship opening match against England on June 13th just around the corner, this could be the shortest off-season of his career.

But for now, he decided to enjoy this rare short vacation.

Roy gazed out the window, completely emptying his mind.

After all, there are many more matches, many more headlines, and many more expectations waiting for him when he gets back.

On June 1, 2004, Chelsea Football Club officially announced the dismissal of manager Claudio Ranieri.

The 52-year-old Italian coach has ended his four-year tenure at Stamford Bridge.

Ranieri succeeded Vialli as Chelsea manager in August 2000.

This season, with Russian billionaire Roman Abramovich acquiring the club and investing hundreds of millions of pounds in player recruitment, the team's strength has been greatly enhanced.

Although Ranieri led his team to a league runner-up finish and a Champions League quarter-final appearance.

This was Chelsea's best result since winning the top flight in 1955, but they failed to win any trophies, which ultimately led to his dismissal at the end of the season.

Chelsea CEO Kenyon told the media: "We are negotiating with Ranieri's agent regarding the termination of his contract and compensation, which is expected to reach £600 million."

Meanwhile, British and Spanish media outlets reported that after Benitez refused to renew his contract with Valencia, the La Liga double champions had begun negotiations with Ranieri.

The Italian coach is expected to return to the Mestalla Stadium, where he led Valencia to success from 1997 to 1999.

Meanwhile, another major piece of news came from the Iberian Peninsula: Real Madrid officially announced that Capello would take over as head coach.

This is Capello's second stint at the club; he led Real Madrid to the La Liga title in the 1996-97 season.

This renowned Italian coach will be given more power than his predecessor Queiroz or even the accomplished coach Vicente del Bosque.

It is understood that Real Madrid initially tried to invite Arsenal manager Arsène Wenger, but was decisively rejected.

Arsène Wenger, who has just led Arsenal to the Champions League semi-finals, is full of confidence and eager to lead the team he built to the top of Europe.

Capello's move to Real Madrid has reignited previous rumors that Totti might join the club.

According to Italian media reports, Totti, the "Prince of Rome," has repeatedly expressed his dissatisfaction with the club's insufficient investment in player recruitment, and even threatened to transfer to Real Madrid or AC Milan if the team does not increase its investment.

Furthermore, sources have revealed that Real Madrid is even considering selling Ronaldo to Chelsea and instead bringing in Totti, Monaco's young star Roy, and Raul, who will remain with the team, to form a brand new attacking trio.

There are undercurrents at Stamford Bridge.

Although Mourinho has not yet officially taken office, the Portuguese manager's transfer plans have already made Abramovich's checkbook eager to open.

An £8000 million budget is ready to go, and this is just the “base money” for Chelsea’s signings this summer.

According to insiders, Abramovich has also prepared an additional £5000 million special transfer fund specifically for acquiring top-tier players.

This means that Stamford Bridge is likely to witness a transfer frenzy exceeding the scale of last summer's.

It's worth noting that Chelsea set a new record for single-season transfer spending in the summer of 2003 (£1.1 million).

The locker room was in turmoil: veterans like Melchiort, Bogard, Petit, and Hasselbaink would not renew their contracts when they expired.

Cech's arrival signaled the end of the Sullivan era.

36-year-old Desailly faces the option of leaving the team.

The club has prepared a release clause, and the French veteran may head to the Middle East to end his career.

However, Desailly recently told the management that he is considering accepting a pay cut in hopes of staying at Chelsea and fulfilling his contract.

Fringe players like Babayaro, Stanic, and even Veron, a high-priced signing from Manchester United, have been put on the market. Joe Cole is facing a loan move, and Geremi has already begun looking for a new club.

The only ones who can sit comfortably on the sidelines are the domestic duo of Lampard and Terry; everyone else lives in the shadow of a purge.

The most dramatic situation involves Crespo and Mutu – these two strikers, whose combined value is nearly £3000 million, are anxiously awaiting the new manager's decision, and the later start date of Serie A has given them an even longer period of torment.

Abramovich's ruble storm is about to unleash a new wave of bloodshed.

On June 1, 2004, Roy landed in Crimea aboard Rybonov's private plane.

The Russian tycoon did not linger; news of his newly acquired Monaco club's unexpected Champions League victory was already spreading like wildfire in Moscow.

Rybonov had to fly back to Russia immediately.

The immense prestige that football brings is exactly what he needs.

He needed to seize the opportunity to network among Moscow's elite circles, ride this wave to elevate his status, and more importantly, make the Kremlin see his value.

After the oligarch's plane landed, he extended an invitation to Roy: "There's a small gathering in Moscow, and many important people want to meet you."

He added meaningfully, "These are people who can change your career."

Roy politely shook his head: "Thank you for your kind offer, but I'm afraid I'll have to disappoint you all this time. I'll definitely make a special trip to Moscow to visit you after the European Championship."

Rybonov's youngest daughter, Ekaterina, suddenly stood up from her seat, her long golden hair swaying gently with her movement.

“Dad,” she said, taking her father’s arm, “I want to stay in Yalta for a few more days.”

She turned to Roy and gave him a sweet smile: "I can be your guide and take you to Swallow's Nest to watch the sunset and to swim at Red Beach—I've spent several summers in Crimea."

“What a wonderful arrangement! Ekaterina knows more about this place than any tour guide. And with her with you, you can go to any private beach you want without any problem.”

Roy gave a polite smile: "Thank you for the invitation, Ekaterina. However, we really can't make it this time."

He put down his wine glass and took a half-step back without making a sound.

It is wise to keep your distance from Rybonov.

Aside from superficial collaborations like joint branding, he had no interest in getting involved in the "big deals" that the Russian oligarch privately hinted at.

Any shady dealings like helping people transfer assets or launder money could be quietly dealt with by Russian agents one day.

After seeing Roy off, Rybonov leaned back in his leather seat, tapping his fingers lightly on his crystal glass as he began to ponder.

They spent nearly 1 million euros to buy the Monaco club and quickly made back most of it.

The Champions League title alone brings in €30 million in prize money, plus at least €40 million from Roy's transfer, meaning this deal has already recouped 70% of its cost.

Not to mention that many big brands are vying to sponsor the club, making its brand worth twice its current value.

However, the real value lies in the unseen benefits.

Riding the wave of his Champions League victory, Rybonov's name became a household name in European football.

Now even fellow Russians like Chelsea owner Abramovich and Arsenal shareholder Gaidamar have been calling him to invite him to dinner.

Most importantly, Putin is currently dealing with those unruly oligarchs, but thanks to his football investments, he has become a "patriotic businessman" in the eyes of the Kremlin.

Monaco, a tax haven, also helped him hide a lot of assets, which was much better than living in constant fear in Russia.

Thinking about this, he took a satisfied sip of vodka; this deal was definitely a bargain.

Rybonov used €10 million to leverage at least €1 billion in future comprehensive benefits, and also gained a political shield that money can't buy.

In contrast, while Abramovich's acquisition of Chelsea was successful, his initial losses far exceeded those of Rybonov.

Roy sat back on the large sofa on the edge of the cliff, a thick copy of "War and Peace" open on his lap.

The outline of that white villa can be seen in the distance behind us.

Leticia nestled against his chest, her long golden hair swaying gently in the sea breeze, occasionally brushing against the pages of the book.

A cool sea breeze blew in his face, and Roy felt a rare sense of relaxation.

This villa by the sea in Yalta covers an area the size of five football fields. The main building is a three-story white stone building, and the arched doors and windows still retain the flavor of the Tsarist Russian aristocracy.

The main entrance leads directly to a large terrace, where on a clear day you can see ships directly in the port of Sevastopol.

The house has a total of twelve rooms: the living room on the first floor with a six-meter high ceiling is decorated with oil paintings from a hundred years ago, a marble dining table for twenty people faces the fireplace, the kitchen equipment is more professional than that of a Michelin-starred restaurant, and the wine cellar stores Crimean red wine from the Soviet era.

The four bedrooms on the second floor all have floor-to-ceiling windows, with views of the Black Sea like paintings embedded in the walls. The bathrooms are all imported from Italy, and you won't feel cold walking barefoot on the floor heating in winter.

The basement has been converted into a recreation area.

The sauna was filled with the scent of pine, the 25-meter swimming pool was dazzlingly blue, and the gym had more equipment than a professional club.

The wide concrete helipad in the backyard still retains its Soviet-era military specifications, but the surface has been re-poured.

The exterior walls of this villa still retain the stone masonry techniques from the Tsarist era, and the mottled arched window frames exude an aristocratic air that has been etched by time.

But upon entering, one is immediately greeted by cutting-edge smart technology.

The motion-sensor lights in the corridor turn on one by one with each step, the electric curtains on the floor-to-ceiling windows can be adjusted to open and close via a touch panel on the wall, and even the showerhead in the bathroom is equipped with a thermostatic control system.

The most advanced smart home system of 2004 was quietly operating in this century-old house.

This is how I spent my time at the Yalta villa:

At 6:30 a.m. sharp, Roy went for a run along the Black Sea coastline.

After seven kilometers, he took off his running shoes and started juggling the ball barefoot on the soft sand.

Since acquiring the talent of "Ronaldinho," that black and white Nike soccer ball seems to have been enchanted.

He flicked the ball gently with the back of his foot, and it obediently spun three times in the air before landing firmly on his knee.

The most amazing thing was that he tapped the ball with his heel, sending it flying in a perfect parabola before landing squarely between his raised eyebrows.

On the second-floor terrace of the villa, Leticia, wrapped in a champagne-colored silk robe, held a cup of Crimean black tea in her hand.

She added two spoonfuls of honey to the tea, and stirred it with a small silver spoon at the bottom of the cup.

The tennis courts are always bustling at midday.

Leticia struggles with her backhand, and every time she makes a mistake, she flicks her blonde hair, which is ruffled by the sea breeze.

Roy deliberately hit the ball out of her reach, watching her jog while lifting her tennis skirt.

After finishing the last game, Leticia threw her racket on the ground and collapsed onto the recliner. She unscrewed her sunscreen.

"Help me apply it to my back," she said without turning her head, her voice still panting.

He knelt beside the deck chair and squeezed sunscreen onto his hand.

When the first touch made her shoulder blade, Leticia gave a soft "hmm".

Roy's hand slid down his spine, leaving a sticky residue of sunscreen on his skin.

"A little below."

Leticia's voice suddenly softened.

Roy pressed his thumb against her lower back, slowing his movements as he rubbed the cream in circles with his fingertips.

Leticia's breathing became noticeably faster.

As Roy's hand slid to the edge of the bikini strap, she suddenly grabbed the armrest of the recliner.

The sunscreen had been applied evenly, but Roy's hand was still on her lower back.

That's enough.

Leticia's voice trembled slightly.

She didn't turn around, but the tips of her ears were bright red.

Roy noticed that her chest was heaving more, and goosebumps rose on the skin along the edge of her swimsuit.

He slowly withdrew his hand, and the coconut scent of sunscreen filled the air between them.

Leticia suddenly stood up and said, "I'm going to take a shower," her steps much faster than usual.

The study was quiet in the afternoon.

They lay on a Persian carpet playing Russian crossword puzzles.

When Leticia encountered a word she didn't know, she would bite the end of her pencil, leaving faint teeth marks on the paper.

Roy secretly flipped through the answers, and she slapped his hand with a dictionary.

"Cheating."

She squinted, but couldn't help but smile.

Roy rubbed the back of his hand, that expression that was somewhere between innocent and cunning reappearing.

What's most striking is the corner of his mouth; when he smiles, he looks like a mischievous boy, but when he doesn't smile, he exudes a dangerous charm.

Leticia found herself constantly counting the number of times his eyelashes fluttered when he blinked, as if trying to determine just how many different Roys were hidden within this boy.

On the beach at dusk, Leticia, barefoot in the waves, picked up a rusty Soviet badge.

Roy wiped it clean with the hem of his shirt and tucked it into the collar of her bathrobe.

The seawater wet her ankles, and fine sand clung to her toes.

As the waves receded, Leticia felt her heart pounding louder than the sound of the tide.

At night, Roy set up his heavy military high-powered binoculars on the terrace.

He turned the focusing wheel, and the gears made a "click-clack" sound.

“Look, those lights are Türkiye.”

He pulled Leticia in front of the camera.

"It's clearly a fishing boat."

She squinted one eye and muttered.

Roy smiled and pulled out a nautical map, pointing to the Black Sea coast: "We're here now, Sinop is 285 kilometers away. Fishing boat lights couldn't possibly be seen from that far."

"But."

“Look at the arrangement of the lights,” he whispered in her ear, pointing into the distance, “such neat lines of light can only be the city lights along the coastline.”

Leticia's hair brushed against his chin, carrying the salty scent of the sea breeze.

She suddenly turned around, her nose almost hitting Roy's face.

“Okay,” she pouted, “but you have to take me to see the real Türkiye before I’ll believe you.”

The television screen in the bedroom was flashing blue light, and Ukrainian comedian Zelensky was making exaggerated facial expressions on the show.

Leticia curled up in Roy's arms, mimicking the difficult Ukrainian lines on TV, her pronunciation so comical that Roy couldn't help but laugh out loud.

"Say it again?"

He pinched her waist.

Leticia deliberately exaggerated the tone of voice from the TV show, only to choke on her own laughter.

Roy reached for the remote to turn off the TV, but accidentally dropped it on the wool carpet with a thud.

“Never mind,” Leticia turned and straddled his lap, her fingers tracing his collarbone. “There’s nothing to see anyway.”

The laughter on the television continued, but it was quickly drowned out by other sounds.

When the robe's belt came undone, the silk fabric made a slight rustling sound.

Leticia's back was pressed against the floor-to-ceiling window, the cold glass against her skin.

The distant sound of the Black Sea's waves rose in waves, as if keeping time for their breathing.

According to British media reports, former Real Madrid manager Carlos Queiroz has accepted an invitation from Manchester United manager Sir Alex Ferguson to return to Old Trafford as an assistant coach.

Just two weeks after being sacked by Real Madrid, the Portuguese coach has decided to return to Manchester United and plans to fly to Manchester this week to sign a two-year contract.

Queiroz's return will replace Walter Smith, the recently departed Scottish assistant coach.

Smith assisted Ferguson during a difficult period for Manchester United this season, but the team was ultimately eliminated by Porto in the Champions League, lost the Premier League title race to Arsenal, and finished with only the FA Cup.

Despite Queiroz's poor record as a coach at Real Madrid.

He only managed to lead the team to fourth place in La Liga and suffered a rare five-game losing streak in the club's history.

But Ferguson always trusted him.

The Manchester United manager had previously publicly defended Queiroz, arguing that he should not be held solely responsible for Real Madrid's poor season.

It is understood that Ferguson had been closely monitoring Queiroz's movements even before Queiroz was dismissed by Real Madrid.

The two will officially reunite when Manchester United travels to the United States for preseason friendlies, and Queiroz is expected to regain his confidence in the familiar Red Devils environment.

On June 4, Tottenham Hotspur officially announced that current French national team manager Jacques Santini will take over as head coach after the European Championship.

This marks the addition of another important player to the Premier League's "managerial change wave" this summer.

The club's official website stated: "We are delighted to announce that Santini will become the team's new head coach. Santini, who is currently leading the French national team in preparation for the European Championship, will officially join the team after the tournament in Portugal."

Tottenham chairman Daniel Levy is confident about the signing: "Jacques' extensive experience, coaching record and achievements prove that he is the most suitable candidate. As I promised before, we would bring in a top European coach by the end of the European season, and now that goal has been achieved."

At the same time that Tottenham officially announced the appointment, Santini held a press conference at the Clairefontaine training ground, confirming that he would step down as head coach of the French national team after the European Championship.

"Managing in the Premier League has always been my dream," the 52-year-old manager said. "Tottenham's ambitions are a perfect fit for me, and I am confident that I can lead this historic club back to the Premier League elite."

He emphasized that this decision would not affect the French team's focus in the European Championship.

This coach, who won the Ligue 1 title four times as a player, took over the reins of the French national team after leading Lyon to the championship in 2002.

His departure will once again create a dilemma for the French Football Federation in selecting a new manager: Lyon's successful coach Le Guen and former Liverpool manager Houllier are both considered potential successors.

For Tottenham, who are mired in difficulties, this signing is a crucial step on their road to revival.

This strong North London team finished only 14th in the Premier League last season, and both managers, Hoddle and Pritt, failed to turn the tide.

This summer, the club has already invested heavily in bringing in strong reinforcements such as England goalkeeper Robinson. Santini's tactical expertise and championship experience will inject much-needed stability into the team.

As Roy was dipping black bread in honey, his phone rang.

It's Domenech.

"Good morning, Roy."

The voice on the phone carried a deliberately friendly tone, "I hope I didn't disturb your breakfast?"

"It's okay, Coach."

Roy put down his napkin.

"You must have already seen the news about Santini."

Domenech paused for a moment, then said, "The Football Association will soon decide on a new coach."

Roy gave a soft "hmm".

“I’ve always admired you, even before your debut.”

Domenech said earnestly, "As one of the locker room leaders, your opinion is very important."

"What do you need me to do?"

"Just say a few fair words in front of the media, such as that I'm very good at tactical planning?"

Domenech chuckled softly, "You know, player support is crucial at times like these."

Roy looked out at the Black Sea: "I understand."

“Think it over carefully, Roy. Once things are settled, we’ll have many opportunities for in-depth cooperation.”

The phone hangs up.

Roy slowly finished the rest of his black tea; his vacation was coming to an end.

"Sigh, I haven't heard anyone tell me my horoscope for today yet."

(End of this chapter)